After the War
by ryanalyson
Summary: In this post-DH story, Harry and Hermione are discontent with their relationships. Will they be able to mend damaged romances or will they find love elsewhere? Warning: non-canon ships ahead!
1. Just Kids

Harry anxiously picked up the old phone on its second ring, yearning to hear the voice of one of his best friends, whom he had not spoken to for some time. The destruction caused by the second Wizarding War had taken months to repair, even with the use of magic. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had volunteered to help the reformed Ministry of Magic as soon as funerals had been held for those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been sent across Europe to aid wherever they could, with the trio quickly falling out of touch, as Ron and Hermione rounded up the last of the Dementors in southern Germany and Harry worked tirelessly to repair London.

"Hello?" Harry said eagerly, praying that, whoever it was, knew how to use a telephone. "Harry," Hermione said softly on the other line, "How have you been?" Her voice sounded odd, strained. "I've been – Hermione what's wrong?" replied Harry, concerned. She chuckled slightly. "You've always been able to see through me. I guess that comes from growing up together." Harry could hear the smile in her voice. "Come over," he commanded gently, "Apparate. I'm at Sirius' place." "Be there in a minute."

Harry hung up the phone and glanced quickly about the house. The dusty furniture and gloom, which he usually ignored, was suddenly glaringly obvious. A slight tingle of nerves formed in the pit of his stomach. Harry was confused – why should he care what it looked like anyway? It was only Hermione. She wouldn't mind. Right? He awkwardly fluffed a couch pillow and brushed off the layer of dust covering the tea table.

Just then, he heard the soft scrape of Hermione's boots at the porch. Rather than ring the bell and risk waking the screaming portrait of Sirius' mother by the door, she gave a quiet cough, knowing that Harry would be waiting. Harry's heart leapt as he nearly raced to the door. Composing himself, he smoothed his shirt and opened the heavy wooden door, running a hand through his untidy hair as he did so. "Hey," he muttered a little breathlessly. Hermione gave a weak smile and returned the greeting. "Come in! I'll have Kreacher make tea." She followed him into the house, hanging up her heavy woolen coat and red scarf on the pegs in the hallway. Her face still slightly flushed from the brisk autumn day, Hermione gave Harry a playful glare. "Kreacher? I think we should let him have his rest. You haven't been overworking him, have you?" she said teasingly, raising an eyebrow. "Rest? Continue sulking you mean," retorted Harry. Rolling her eyes, Hermione brushed past her old friend into the kitchen and waved her wand. The once-grimy and unused kettle floated onto the stove, shining as if it had just been polished. Steam began pouring from the spout, a cheery whistle filling the air. Harry laughed and the sound seemed to erase some of Hermione's awkwardness. Her face softened as she tugged the sleeves of her flannel shirt down over her hands and shivered. "Honestly, Harry. Do you forget you're a wizard? It's _freezing_ in here." "I guess that's why I need you around," Harry grinned as she went to light the fire.

Soon enough, the formerly gloomy house was filled with warmth and light. Harry had found half-burned candle sticks under the sink and enchanted them to float a few feet above their heads in the living room. Both sat on the groaning sofa clutching mugs of strong tea as Harry rattled on about what had happened since they last spoke. Hermione sat stiffly, the sparkle in her eyes gone again. As he spoke, Harry couldn't help noticing the way a strand of Hermione's auburn hair kept falling into one of her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he brushed it aside. She looked up at him, surprised. To cover his embarrassment, he said quickly "Now why don't you tell me why you're here?"

She looked out the grimy window, seemingly lost in thought. Harry followed her gaze, watching as brightly colored leaves spun in the rapidly darkening sky. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Hermione took a deep breath and turned back to Harry. "It's Ron. We've… well I think we need some time apart." It was Harry's turn to be surprised. The last time he'd seen his two best friends, they had seemed enamored with one another. Despite the horror that they'd witnessed, both had laughed more than ever and never left the other's side. "What happened?" Harry frowned. Looking at her lap, Hermione sighed again. "I guess we just aren't right for each other. Not right now. You see, Ronald proposed. I'm not ready for that. We're just _kids_, Harry. Just kids. I want to go back to Hogwarts, you know. Finish seventh year. I want...I don't know what I want. I'm so confused." A single tear slid down her cheek. Harry was at a loss for what to do. He had known Ron had fancied Hermione for years, but didn't know he had been this serious. "'Mione," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder, "I'm sure everything will work out. Ron's done loads of stupid stuff before, he'll come around. Do what you need to do first. If you truly love each other, it doesn't matter." "That's just the thing Harry. I don't think I - " But at that moment a ringing was heard from the entryway. "My phone," Hermione muttered as she sprang from the couch to retrieve her coat.

Harry slumped back across the cushions, his emotions whirling. If Ron and Hermione broke up, what would happen to the trio? They would never be able to go back to the way they were. But another feeling troubled Harry – hope. Ashamed, Harry forcefully reminded himself of Ginny, who had taken off a year at Hogwarts and was staying at the Burrow, grieving her elder brother's death. Harry hadn't seen Ginny for a month, and at their last meeting he could tell their own relationship had become strained. He jumped as Hermione slipped back into the room. "I've got to go. Mum needs me to fix the washer again," she said, an exasperated smile on her lips. "A witch in the family - cheaper than a plumber!" Harry joked. He stood up to walk her to the door, regretful that their time together had to be cut short. He helped her back into her coat, inhaling the scent of her sweet perfume on the fabric. "Thank you, Harry. For everything," she murmured, her eyes scanning his face. Her gaze lingered on his scar for a moment and Harry knew she was remembering the past two years. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you, Hermione. You're the best friend I could have asked for," he replied. Suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweatshirt. Harry held her close, realizing he had missed Hermione more than he had cared to admit. Too soon, she released him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "See you," she whispered. Harry silently let her out and closed the door, not leaving the entryway until he heard the soft pop that meant she was gone.


	2. The Burrow

The visit with Hermione had only made Harry lonelier, the solitude turning his thoughts deeper and darker. For the next three days, Harry brooded, the growing chill of late October doing little to improve his mood. He sat motionless on the moldy couch for hours at a time, staring sightlessly into the fire. Memories of the time Harry and Hermione had spent alone in their hunt for Voldemort's horcruxes flashed inexplicably in his mind. The look on Hermione's face when Ron had left the camp, the way she had cried herself to sleep most nights, the dance between him and Hermione, and the look on Ron's face when he saw the locket's vision of Harry and Hermione kissing passionately all haunted Harry's thoughts. The fourth morning, Harry woke with a start, sitting straight up in bed with his hand on his forehead. Covered in sweat, Harry knew he had just had a nightmare, which tended to happen most nights, but for some reason couldn't remember the details. Getting up and dressed, he decided leave Grimmauld Place, thinking some fresh air might be good for him. Pulling on his boots at the door, Harry caught a whiff of Hermione's floral perfume. Looking up, his heart skipping a beat, he noticed that her red scarf still hung on a peg. Stuffing it into one of his deep coat pockets, Harry shut the door and locked it behind him, turning sharply on the spot.

Moments later, Harry stood before The Burrow, the Weasley family's slightly lopsided but comfortable home. He hadn't known where he wanted to go before apparating, trusting his instincts to take him where he needed to be. With the windows glowing brightly and the chimney softly smoking, Harry knew that no other place, besides Hogwarts of course, would feel quite as homey. Popping his ringing ears with a yawn, Harry eagerly trudged through the piles of gold and red leaves that surrounded the home, his breath steaming. He rapped twice on the front door, scraping his dusty boots on the coir doormat. In no time at all, Mrs. Weasley had Harry in her arms, crying, "Harry, dear! It's been too long. Come in, come in!" Warmth washed over Harry as he crossed the threshold. "Let me have a look at you," said Mrs. Weasley, taking Harry's face in her hands. "You've grown since I've last seen you," she accused motherly. Mrs. Weasley gently adjusted Harry's glasses before turning away to hide the proud tears sparkling in her eyes.

Harry grinned around the house as he followed the plump woman into the kitchen. The house was nearly identical to the first time he had visited when he was just twelve years old: large plush armchairs were pushed in front of a roaring fire, baskets of yarn were scattered about the floor, and lamps glowed from every table. Mrs. Weasley bustled about, drawing back the kitchen curtains and pouring Harry a cup of sweet tea from a chipped teapot that floated in midair. Ron was seated at the long chestnut table, glaring moodily at his own teacup. He didn't look up when Harry walked in and, as Mrs. Weasley left the room, she gave Harry a very pointed look. Harry cleared his throat and sat in the chair opposite his friend. "Hullo Harry," Ron muttered, still looking down. Harry didn't know what to say. He could assume by Ron's unkempt hair and sullen expression that things hadn't improved with Hermione since they had spoken. Harry was suddenly aware of the small lump of Hermione's scarf in his pocket, and a guilty look crossed his face . Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Harry took a sip of his tea before speaking. "So… How are things?" he asked stupidly. "Rubbish," replied Ron. "I suppose you've come to see Ginny. She's upstairs. Mum's making her help clean the attic out." "I came to see everyone," assured Harry, "I've missed you all. It's been too long." Ron just sniffed absentmindedly. The heat of the kitchen adding to Harry's discomfort, he pulled off his coat and laid it on the back of the chair. "If you need anything, mate…" Harry began, but trailed off at Ron's sour expression. "I'll be upstairs," he added hastily, getting up from the table and taking the stairs two at a time.

At the landing, he was greeted by Ginny, long red hair tied up and elbow-length yellow gloves covering her hands. "I'm hiding from Mum," she hissed, "She's been working me to death." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and pulled him into one of the spare bedrooms, shutting the door. "Finally some peace and quiet. Ron moping about the place and Mum all 'do this, Ginny, do that Ginny.' I've been going mad!" Ginny spat, ripping the gloves from her hands and throwing them to the floor. She gave Harry a quick hug before flopping into a chair by the window. Harry's heart didn't thud as it used to when he was around Ginny, whose good looks had ensured she had no shortage of boyfriends while at Hogwarts. Frowning slightly, he sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at his hands. He could feel Ginny's eyes on him, so he looked up and said, "Ginny, I've been thinking." "Well that's new," she said rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue out at him. Harry half-smiled at her spunk. " I don't think this is going where… I don't think we should keep this up," he said quickly, blurring his words together. He was surprised at himself. He hadn't come here looking to break things off with Ginny. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, strongly reminding Harry of her mother. "You're breaking up with me. _Again_," she muttered through clenched teeth. "Again. How _dare_ you Harry James Potter!" Harry, sensing an argument, began to backpedal. "No! No I just… Look Ginny. Things are tough right now. Your brother – "

Just then, Ron burst through the door, Harry's coat in one hand and the scarf in the other, his face purple. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS _THIS_?" he yelled, shoving Hermione's scarf under Harry's nose. "WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH _MY_ GIRLFRIEND?" "N-nothing! Honestly!" Harry stammered, taken aback at Ron's explosion. "I ran into Hermione the other day and she forgot her scarf. I was just going to take it back – " "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Ron screamed. "Nothing happened, Ron. She was just telling me - " began Harry fiercely. "Telling you _what_, exactly, Harry?" Ron looked so angry Harry was afraid he might hit him. Harry stood up and looked Ron straight in the eye, his hands balled into fists. Ginny sprang up, tugging on Harry's sleeve to pull him backwards.

Mrs. Weasley came in, looking outraged, a feather duster in her hand and dust in her hair. "Ronald Weasley! What is all this commotion?" she asked shrilly. "Harry's been talking to Hermione," glowered Ron, not taking his eyes off Harry. "The last time I checked you three were best friends. What has gotten into you?" His mother's words sobered Ron dramatically and he sunk down on the bed. "Sorry, mate. I took it out on you," he murmured to Harry's feet. Mrs. Weasley smacked the feather duster against her son's head. "Behave!" she admonished, stalking from the room. The three teens looked everywhere but at each other until Mrs. Weasley called for Ginny, who gave an exasperated snort and followed her mother out of the room. "_Boys_," they heard her mutter under her breath as she closed the door.

"Hermione's just been _weird_," said Ron dejectedly as soon as his sister was out of sight. "I thought her and me were… And now she's gone, Harry. I finally get her and then she goes." Harry was forcefully reminded of the time Ron left Harry and Hermione in the woods, when Harry thought their friendship was over for good. An old feeling of anger crept into the pit of Harry's stomach and he felt like shouting. Breathing deeply to calm himself, he said, "Let her go, mate. She'll come back. You know she will." Harry realized he'd sounded unconvincing when Ron looked at him skeptically. "I even showed her Great Aunt Muriel's old wedding ring, you know? Thought she'd love it. But oh no," and here he imitated Hermione's voice, "'Have you lost your mind Ronald?'" Ron shook his head sadly. "_Girls_," he said with emphasis. Harry snorted and Ron gave a half-hearted laugh.

"But you said you'd seen Hermione. What did she say about me?" asked Ron suspiciously. Harry was quiet for a moment. He didn't want to betray Hermione's trust and he knew too well the grudges Ron could hold with the slightest bit of provocation. "She said the relationship," here Harry coughed, the word stuck in his throat, "was going too fast. She said that you two are just…young. _Too_ young." Harry looked at the grimy window pane, recalling how the candle light had danced across Hermione's face as she had spoken those words at Sirius' place. Ron's voice pulled him back to the present. "Too young? Thought it wouldn't matter. All these years, Harry. I know her well enough. We could get our own place, somewhere in the village. Start a family." "Hermione doesn't want that," said Harry, his words gruff. Ron's brow furrowed.

"Well mate, I think I should go. Kreacher will be, uh, wondering where I've been." Harry knew his excuse was pathetic, but he wanted to be alone. "Sure thing, mate. Thanks for stopping by." Harry disliked the awkwardness that stretched between him and Ron, but wasn't in the mood for reconciliation. He took his coat from where Ron had dropped it on the floor and hurriedly left the room, calling out his goodbyes to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, not waiting to hear a response.

Ginny ran to her bedroom window, watching Harry as he reached the front porch and vanished. Somehow she knew things would never be the same.


End file.
